


A Tiny White Spot

by Eva



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eva/pseuds/Eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clyde has conjunctivitis.  It's not the end of the world, but try telling Sherlock that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tiny White Spot

***

“Watson. Clyde is sick.”

Joan managed to force her eyes open, though every cell of her body tried to rebel. "Sherlock, what—”

“He’s sick. There’s a white spot in his eye.”

“What time is it?” she managed to spit out, and pushed herself into a sitting position. Her alarm shone bright red across the room: “It’s two AM!”

“And Clyde is sick,” Sherlock said again, holding out Clyde for her inspection. Joan sputtered and waved him away; two AM is not the time to have a tortoise shoved in your face. "Look at his eye. You were a doctor; there’s something wrong with him.”

“And you know what it is, because you’ve already Googled it, I’m sure,” Joan muttered, pushing her hair out of her face.

“Yes, it’s conjunctivitis and if we get him to the emergency animal clinic immediately we can see that it’s treated before it has a chance to become an ulcer.” Sherlock put Clyde in her hands and went for her closet.

“Sherlock, it’s not going to become an ulcer in the next six hours,” Joan pointed out, turning the lamp on and fumbling for her glasses so she could inspect Clyde. "There’s a tiny little white spot in his eye.”

“Yes!” Sherlock said triumphantly, and threw some clothes at her.

***

“Emergency pet hospitals are for, you know, emergencies,” Joan hissed for the umpteenth time.

Sherlock’s leg was jouncing up and down. "An imminent ulcer in Clyde’s eye is an emergency, Watson.”

“It’s a tiny white spot! We’ll get some drops and it will be fine!” Joan half-yelled, and then tried to hide her face when the other “pet parents,” as the awful posters declared them all to be, stared at her.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, unperturbed, “but it would have been fine much earlier had we gone to the hospital rather than waiting for this—” and here he raised his voice— “incredibly slow and time-wasting vet!”

“Oh my god,” Joan said, now hiding her face with both hands.

Clyde, in his shoebox, was the only member of their little family who didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

***

“He’s rubbing his face on his leg again! Watson! Do something!”

Joan let her head thump down on the table, because that was a pain that would go away. Unlike Sherlock and his unending stream of consciousness about Clyde’s condition.

At that moment, he came running into the kitchen, looking wild. "Watson. We have to go to the pet shop. Find one that sells cones for tortoises.”

“Cones?” Joan repeated, rubbing her forehead.

“Cones, you know. Like for dogs who chew on their wounded legs.” Sherlock snatched the laptop from her, ignoring her loud cry of surprise and annoyance. "Never mind, never mind. I’ll do it. Go and put Clyde in his jumper, please.”

“I refuse to put Clyde in that sweater,” Joan said, standing up. "You don’t even know how to knit. It looks terrible and he looks terrible in it.”

Sherlock stared at her, his eyes wide and hurt. "That was unkind.”

***


End file.
